Montana Cowboy (Big Sky Mavericks Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

reality has a way of making itself known whether you're whistling a happy tune or not."
    He agreed.
    So they had one small thing in common. That didn't mean he was interested in finding out more about her. He wanted to get the hell away from these funny looking quadrupeds, but first he needed some good strong soap to get rid of the smell of alpaca poop.
    She apparently had the same thought. She used the shovel like a mike stand and checked him out. Her nice, slightly upturned nose wrinkling. "No way am I putting you in my truck. How would you feel about a shower with a stranger...at a stranger's house, I mean? Not with me. Not that you were thinking that..." She made a crazy face and turned to leave. "Follow me.
    "Downwind." He thought he heard her add.
    The glare of sunlight after being inside the barn robbed him of sight. He would have tripped over the big white doorstop dozing in the shade if a piercing whistle hadn't stopped him.
    "Beau. Get out of the way."
    Serena returned to take Austen's hand. Like he was a toddler. "What you must think of my operation. It's not always going to be a circus around here. I'm still getting settled. Sorry."
    Her tone mollified his soggy pride a tiny bit. And her hand felt nice. Sturdy. Genuine. Nobody had reached out to help him in so long; he'd forgotten what a comfort a little human touch could give.
    "The people who lived here before me left tons of stuff behind," she said. "Including one upstairs closet filled with men's clothes."
    "Jack Sawyer. He died a month or so ago."
    "Oh. Well, I guess he won't mind if you take a pair of jeans. Otherwise, you'll have to wait in a towel while I wash yours."
    Austen wasn't superstitious. He didn't have a problem wearing a dead man's pants if they fit. He hadn't seen Jack in years but anything would be better than hanging around for an hour or more while his sexy neighbor laundered his clothes.
    "Anything. Even a pair of sweats would work."
    "Anything? I found one of those cowboy raincoats hanging in a back closet. I think it's called a duster. Of course, you run the risk of looking like some kind of flasher."
    The humor in her tone should have pissed him off. Normally, he abhorred being the butt of anybody's joke. He'd lived his entire life adhering to a strict credo. To be the best, you have to believe you are the best.
    But the best didn't get investigated for misappropriation of campaign funds. The best didn't struggle every day to reclaim their life, their reputation, until they reached the point where chucking the whole damn mess and starting over seemed like their only option.
    She let go of his hand when they reached the sidewalk leading to the back porch. The yard, which from Paul's description had been littered with leftover crap from the Sawyers, now looked neat and tidy. Even the lawn appeared mowed.
    "You're a good renter, aren't you?"
    "I try," she said modestly.
    She trotted ahead, pausing at the back door. "Wait a sec. I'll be right back."
    He used the privacy to twist sideways to see how bad his backside looked. Brownish tan streaks against the nearly black fabric of his favorite Diesel jeans made his stomach flip. He tried to breathe shallowly to keep from gagging.
    The wet stuff was starting to dry and flake off, but his underwear and skin remained damp and itchy. What if the smell had permeated his nose hairs? Could the spa at the Bar V5 cure him?
    "Sorry it took so long," she said, launching herself through the doorway, arms laden with towels and several pairs of jeans, neatly folded. "I boxed up all the last renters' stuff and forgot which box contained the clothes."
    She set the pile on the weathered picnic table a few feet away. He spotted three choices in jeans and one familiar looking T-shirt. "The shirt is new. Your brother left it as a housewarming present, but it's too big for me. And green is not my brother's color."
    She has a brother somewhere . He filed away the information. Why? Habit, he figured. A good memory